something unexpected yet so ordinary happened
last night
it made me wonder how exactly and
why exactly
the ordinary parts of my life are often so
extraordinary
that extraordinary, to me, has to be more than
exceptionally marvellous and nowhere near far from
outstandingly incredible
some people call it high standards,
like the top step of the ladder

I thought
last night was incredible
because you kiss exactly like how I kiss and the shock fluttered
like bits of confetti and glitter on my tongue and lips and
all over my goosebumpy skin
the cadency of my heart was somehow simultaneously
rampant and rested
my body fully invested
in yours
my body completely suggesting
it’s yours
to touch, to make feel good, to adore
the divine woman, curved and open
eyes and skin glowing
arousal growing
bodies non-existent, spirit flowing

exceptionally marvellous
I jitter in silence, knowing myself
and patterns alike
I try to throw away this burdening muddy stick of
I-always-end-up-getting-sick
of things eventually
but obviously
it’s easier to neglect the fact
that this stick is a boomerang
and it always comes right back

All that glitters never meant much to me,
Petals fall & fade, withering along with time like its temporary immortality,
Money joining suit in its temporary fervour, but never buying love as the Beatles crooned.

So let me tell you what does:

The look on your face when I've made you happy with a surprise or two;
The sound of your laughter reverberating through the air as I cowl in my witty silly remarks;
The mental connection that pleasantly astounds me with every thought-stealing line and mirrored gestures-humour-reaction-action;
How your words has awaken the inner dormant writer/poet and inspired to put my venomous quill to paper again;
How you make me feel beautiful, appreciated and respected, just the way I am;
Your empathy and understanding that chase the dark clouds away and silence my demons;
The way we make love with the glances we exchange in public like there's no one around;
The way we make love with our bodies, explorative archaeologists tracing each other's landscapes gently-sweetly-devilishly;
How you claim my arm across, intertwining with yours, caressing it as if it's a part of you;
When your palm holds my face lovingly while we exchange sweet kisses, nibbles and all;
Blowing soft breaths onto our goosebumpy skins, whispering how much we love each other;
Cheekily stealing smooches at traffic light stops which never seem to be long enough;
Resting your head on my sturdy shoulder as I cushion mine into yours, christening it with my lips,
As we serenade that BSB song transporting me back to 14 again.

And the realization pierces me through like truth always does:

That I would not trade any moment, any era, any wish, any desire
Than the one right now with you that has headily grasped me so:
A dizzying cocktail of drugs that is you.

Shalini Nayar
31.10.14
(c) 2014

inspire
1. to fill with an animating, quickening, or exalting influence
2. to fill or affect with a specified feeling, thought, etc.
3. to influence or impel

inspired
1. aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence
2. resulting from such inspiration

inspiration
1. an inspiring or animating action or influence
2. something inspired, as an idea
3. a result of inspired activity
4. a thing or person that inspires

Inspiration is not often thought of as something with feet. Something capable of wandering the earth.
But rather, it is thought of as a thing. A thing that occurs. Be it divine or natural, it simply is.

Some people find Inspiration in nature.
In the woods, among weeping willows whose vibrant leaves cascade upon the earth in blissful waves.
Others find it at the edge of the water, as they observe their reflection in the piercingly clear, blue ocean while the tide brings waves rushing endlessly forward into their bare, goosebumpy legs.
Others still find it under the skies, as they stare up into an endless mass of meteors, meteorites, and stars of all colors, burning ever brighter, flying through and twinkling against the night's black.

I fear many people live their lives without meeting even a subtle glimpse of Inspiration.
These creatures are not capable of living; they simply exist.

Inspire is what we are capable of doing.
Inspired is the way we are capable of feeling.
Inspiration is the difference between being alive and living.
People are born and die.
Their lives simply pass.
They exist, they do not live, for they have never caught a glimpse of Inspiration,
even out of the corner of their eye.

I am one of the lucky ones.
I sit, among the harmonic symphony of coffee and cigarettes, across from Inspiration Himself.

We sit.
We sit on a worn, green metal bench that has become familiar and comfortable.
He hugs His legs against His chest with His feet crossed, bobbing up and down as though He feels the ebbs and flows of ocean waves beneath him.
He looks ponderously at the words in front of Him, words so brilliantly crafted,
woven from His life's toils, troubles, and joys.
Words that I hope He sees fit to share with the universe;
Words that are simply beyond me.

We are no more than two young minds,
One, spectacularly brilliant, and the other, exceedingly average,
but whose brainwaves crash into each other as
thunder and lightning join in a perfect storm,
a collision of angst and unhinged emotions and laughter.

There are people in the world who live without Inspiration.
Who never even see it out of the corner of their eye.
But the few lucky ones, like me, will tell you that
you simply have to look in the right place.

You can find it in the trees.
You can find it in the seas.
You can find it in the skies.

But if your mind can't seem to focus on something so vast and universal,
you simply have to look into the eyes of a friend who has never left your side.